11.04.2002 - Words are Due

There are a plethora of opportunities for fun and debauchery on Halloween, but truthfully, on Thursday, the only thing I found myself excited about was my office potluck.

This isn't a sign that I'm old or boring (or older or more boring). This is merely proof that after solely eating food that came from tin cans or cardboard boxes for the past three weeks for budgetary reasons, the idea of lukewarm casserole can actually seem appealing.

By ten o'clock, I found myself drooling in front of a conference table full of homemade goodies. Usually at this sort of thing, I just have a bite or two just to be polight because I have this fear of being the office fatass. Shucking pride and fear, I filled my paper plate. Sometimes I'm not sure if there's any difference between self-confidence and simply not giving a shit.

Just as I shoveled a few meatless meatballs onto my plate, my new boss, who I had successfully evaded for the most part until then, strode in and said, "I'm going to change some things about your life."

When I heard this, I secretly hoped my boss was a magical genie here to grant me three wishes and I'd finally have x-ray vision, the ability to fly and that Saved By The Bell reunion show I've always wanted. However, I know better than to think something good will come when your boss tells you he's going to shake things up a bit.

He says, "have you heard the plan?" Nobody here ever tells me anything, and by now, I'm sure it's all a secret plot to make me feel like an asshole because I never know what's going on. He goes on to tell me that because he doesn't need an admin, he's going to send me down to another department where I'll "be more entertained."

I sneered and said, "who the fuck do you think you are?"

Actually, I would have said that if my mouth hadn't been full of snickerdoodle at the moment. Instead, I just looked like a chipmunk, upset because h had accidentally taken a bite out of some bear feces when trying to store food for the Winter.

After overcoming the impotent anger resultant of being utterly powerless with the help of some garlic bread (food is love!) and the realization that I'm lucky they didn't fire me when they should have, I cleaned up my desk and got ready to meet my new new boss.

I had a meeting with my boss, an old co-worker who now works in my new department and someone from my old department which basically served as a job interview where nobody really cared what I said. I realized at this point that my old boss-- the one who used to sexually harass me-- must have kissed some major ass on my behalf. People are bending over backwards to make sure there's somewhere I can sit and suck in dollars. Everyone knows that I haven't done any work since my second week of employment, yet everyone is happy to talk about how "smart," "creative," and "hard-working" I am. I feel like a used car sometimes.

After the meeting, I actually felt happy for the most part. A change of scenery would be nice and it might be good to feel useful. It seems like there might be things here to do, and the paycheck is a little sweeter when I feel like I've actually earned the money.

Cut to Monday and everything changes.

Among the things on my new desk when I show up are an empty Pepsi bottle, several fast food wrappers, a used Kleenex and a three inch layer of grime. Welcome home!

After I cleaned up the mess, I signed into my workstation, which evidently was manufactured during Clinton's first term. Now that I'm working with cutting edge 1994 technology, it takes about a week to get any program started. I open up my e-mail and Internet Explorer to start my morning routine where I respond to whatever requests I have in my inbox (usually none) and read the headlines, only I NO LONGER HAVE FUCKING INTERNET ACCESS. WHAT REASON DO I HAVE TO LIVE?

My company is huge on security. I have to go through several checkpoints where I swipe my magnetic ID before I can go to the bathroom. In order to get access to a new computer or new features, an employee usually have to wait long enough to reach retirement age because of all the signatures and checks we have to go through. Somehow, I got my clearance within the span of a weekend. So, either they forgot to give me access to the Internet in their rush or they wanted to watch me hang myself in my cubicle with my mouse cord. If it's the former, I can't complain to anyone because I have zero reason to be on the Internet in the first place. If it's the latter, I totally understand because there ain't a damned thing going on down here. What happened to being "more entertained," Mr. Bossman?

Next, I discover that I'm sharing my cubicle with four other people. Even though they only need to use it occasionally to check their e-mail, they have all of their belongings spread about. It's ridiculous. It's like I'm "working" in the backroom of a Goodwill, only if I were, I probably wouldn't be asked repeatedly throughout my day to "go find something to do" so that someone can use my terminal to forward fart jokes to his boyfriend.

Soon enough, I'm goign to end up working in a dark basement longing for my red Swingline stapler and mumbling about setting the building on fire.

The way I see it, this is like jail. I'm paying my debt to corporate society. I've suckled from the teat, but never, ever given anything in return, so my penance is to sit in a cubicle, stare out the window all day and think about what I've done to deserve this.

I think I'm making a break for it though. This job definitely ends at the end of the year, but I'd rather not wait that long to find something new. I've set myself a goal to have a new job within the next two weeks, but that's probably unrealistic. If things don't get better soon, I'm going to have good motivation to make it a reality.

-- Jeffy